ALL APPOLOGIES by Mark Grist

In the departure lounge
Looking for our gate
We hear a man
A slick,
Blonde haired
Well dressed
Man
losing it.

‘For goodness sake!’
He booms,
His business suit
stretched
Against waving arms.
He yells
He howls
At his
Four year old
Son
‘Stop apologising!’

The words slap
from his lips
And his face,
This well manicured face
Glares
Shamefully
At the
Underperforming child,

Swats his suitcase
To the ground
Yanks the child’s hand
Off his trouser leg,
Stomps away.

His wife, made up
In her red patterned dress
Kneels down to the
Agonised face of the boy
‘Daddy is angry
Because you only
Need to say sorry once’
The man turns, snaps
‘You don’t need to say sorry at all!’

There are tears
From the child
As his mother
Holds his tangerine cheeks
Checks over her shoulder,
Applies tender criticism
Too quiet to hear

He bawls
Tugs at his fluffy
Blonde hair
In gulped desperation
For the right thing
To say.

We carry on walking but I’m
Aching, I think
To apologise to someone.
Anyone, really.